


Burrowing Truth

by dreamer1789



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Gen, On Hiatus, post-manga
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 18:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamer1789/pseuds/dreamer1789
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post manga by a decade. Edward had thought he’d discovered all of Xerxes’ secrets a long time ago. When Lin’s political situation has him drag Ed on one final shared adventure discoveries and intrigue await in the heart of the desert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost civilization

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [FMA Big Bang 2013](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/18349) by dzioo. 



> It goes without saying, but many thanks to **dzioo** for her wonderfully inspirational work. It's been such a pleasure to egg this fic out with you. ;) Loads of thanks also to **sexkitten426** for being a wonderfully understanding and supportive beta. And for putting up with my information dumps. XD
> 
> Note: 1) I’m taking liberty with certain philosophical/alchemical terms to suit the needs of the story.  
> 2) This is a WIP (that's the only reason the violence warning is there). It's supposed to end up around 16.000 words and it will - once I can get around to it. Don't hold your breath until summer, though. ^^; Any comments and concrit will be welcomed with an Armstrong-style hug. Hope you enjoy!

**The unknown South West, beyond Creta/south of Drachma**

 

Edward had only just begun to win the trust of the people of the largest lumber city he’d come across in the south-western swamp country of Cojano. Not all that many pioneers had ventured there yet, and those that did brought more trouble than their coin was worth…or so Ed was informed over a pint at the tavern he’d taken up residence in. He hadn’t made much progress in his research yet. The small library the minor city boasted – how anyone could suffer to lock themselves in there for hours on end in that heat combined with the absurd density level – charged outrageous entry fees, and their alchemic text collection was small and so outdated that whoever would be stupid enough to experiment based on its instructions was just asking for some kind of rebound. Ed scoffed and picked at his sticky shirt, hoping to draw in some fresh air through the sweat-soaked cotton. His next stop after the library was the first shaded outdoor bar that served chilled cactus juice or something equally hydrating. He almost missed the weeks he’d spent crossing the frozen tundra of Føndăl with nothing but a stout horse and an incomprehensible, perpetually intoxicated old geezer as his companions.

Balanced on the back legs of a stained and battered wooden chair, Ed drained his third glass and skimmed through Alphonse’s latest letter, which he’d received half a year ago when he was still settled near the volatile border with Drachma. Alphonse’s memo told, with some smugness, about finally passing his mastery exam in alkahestry. He then went on to give Ed pointers on how to combine the famous Healer Huan’s array with Boehme’s inverted heptagonal design. Ed scribbled some additional notes in his fifth journal as he worked out his brother’s logic behind the suggested new formula. In theory, the method was sound. If it worked, it would hardly be a significant breakthrough, but it would still be one tiny step on the right path of their lives’ work. Alphonse’s vague mentions of an increase in crime had Ed wondering about Lin’s occupation, but overall he wasn’t too worried. Alphonse could take care of himself, and if someone so much as looked at him the wrong way, the bean girl (the young woman had finally gone through some growth spurts, but in Ed’s mind the nickname stuck) was likely to wipe the floor with them. So, Ed focussed on his research and made a mental note to return to the border with Aerugo, where Winry had set up another shop, in time for their seventh anniversary.

Edward dragged himself through clouds of dancing mosquitos back to the tavern for a hearty supper after his third interview with the infuriatingly stubborn local medicine woman. He had to put up with her, if he wanted to exchange any information from the rum-runner city. The woman knew her craft, presumably at least as well as the handful of trained medical staff at the hospital, who had one and all quoted patient confidentiality and booted him out the door. Ed shoved thoughts of backwater xenophobes to the back of his mind when his nose picked up on the smell of spit-roasted beef. He was only carving into his first slice of succulent meat with the hunting knife that passed as full cutlery set in this part of town when the harried messenger found him. At first glance, the oldest grocer in town only had business with a bottle of spirits when he settled on the barstool next to Edward. However, the work-hardened man turned out to be a friend of the uncle of a regular at Havoc’s general store. The man cajoled Ed into buying him another drink and then ranted about the price of ore and how their corn harvest sale suffered from the grain-based stock coming in from the East. The man’s connections and his ability to speak in double meanings that just reeked of Roy Mustang’s code of communication had Ed commandeering the nearest phone in town from a completely bewildered and outrageous postal clerk.

 

Dawn the next morning had Edward backtracking east through humid mountainous terrain to the nearest half-abandoned train station. The only scheduled train for that day would be a military freight, but having once been part of Greelin’s posse, Ed had learned a thing or two about hitching a free ride on top of cargo trains. A precious water flask and lumps of bread and goat’s cheese entertained Ed as snippets of last evening’s noise—filled conversation replayed in his mind. To anyone unfamiliar with the General’s code, the pair of them had a ruffled but meaningless chat about homeless bums chatting up women; however, the picture painted by the true meaning of Mustang’s message was odd and alarming enough to send Edward packing straightaway. 

“The Emperor-in-waiting doesn’t give any specifics in his missive, but he says his new quest might be of interest to you, and that he will meet you in Ishval. Anything involving Xing in their current state of unrest and a meeting in the Holy Land of Ishval is cause for concern. It doesn’t matter that you’re just a civilian now; you remain a former State Alchemist. These people have seen the layout of most of this country. They know that our current blind spot lies in the east, tied up as our regiments are in the south and north.”Mustang’s tone was terse. He was, after all, the head authority on the Independent Ishvalan Republic creation effort, and its slow progress – both legislative as well as in trade and labour – left a bitter taste in his mouth, especially in such a tactically unsound situation as this new one.“As long as they are left in peace, the Ishvalan settlers grant anyone unobstructed passage. Of late, more Amestrians have been spotted in the trading caravans leaving for and coming from the east. I need you to keep your eyes and ears open in this venture of yours,” General Mustang debriefed.

Before Ed could retort on how Mustang should save his breath and would be better off contacting Alphonse if the General wanted insight into Xingese tactical thinking, Mustang cut to the crux of the matter.

“Breda informs me that Lin left the Imperial City three months ago and is now travelling with a caravan across the Great Desert. Odd, don’t you think, for the crown prince of all Xing to personally go traipsing with merchants and legal aliens to meet up with you of all people, when not even a year has passed since the annexation of the last opposing clan.”

Ed’s grumbles about “gluttonous, squinty-eyed idiots who should really know better than to stick their nose in things that don’t concern them” were ignored.

“ _Pay attention, Fullmetal_.” Ed’s spine automatically straightened in response to Mustang’s ‘commander of the army’ tone, even as the blond cursed conditioned habits. “The first report had us convinced that you and your brother were part of that merry band, along with your clones. Alphonse, however, has a solid alibi and is sadly tied up in a _zhichí yàz shōmyeong **[1]**_ ritual.”

The dialect of the Xingese clans rolled without a hitch off Mustang’s tongue. Ed almost wished the General would choke on the lyrical language. He snarled at the underlying threat to his family when, for once, he hadn’t even done anything. Ed reined in his temper with a huff. “See if I’m ever nice to _your_ offspring. Spit it out, Mustang. What is the real threat here?”

“I need you to report back to me on this venture. I need an agent I can trust with that caravan now that they’ll be reaching Ishval. When I said, ‘your clones’, I meant just that. At least a dozen people bearing a strong resemblance to both you and Alphonse are travelling with the prince, leading them. Last time Amestris saw anyone other than you boys with that genetic makeup was your father and the homunculus Father. I need to know things haven’t changed too much in our alliance with Xing. The brass needs to know that Father didn’t have a back-up plan that’s come to bite us. Grumman has assured me his guard reported no suspicious activity whatsoever from Pride, but we can’t take the risk. As Lin asked for your assistance personally, you are my best bet on disaster control.”

Ed was already planning the quickest route back to Amestris while the General was still stating the obvious. Last time the homunculi had free movement, the country almost got wiped off the face of the earth. With involvement from Xing and even Ishval, the situation sounded more than a little disturbing. Ed would just have to crack some skulls together – starting with Lin’s – until things made sense and went back to normal.

The sharp whistle of the approaching freight train broke Ed out of his reverie. It was time to hitch a ride.

 

X0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0X

 

Dodging Amestrian border security was almost too easy; thanks to the network of people Ed was steadily expanding. A few solid bribes and the name of the right person mentioned got you almost anywhere, Ed had learned quickly.

Ed swapped another military cargo train for a paid third-class passenger coach in Central City.

In the end, it took another week for Ed to arrive in the Ishval region with the sun setting at his back. His detour to see Winry not only helped keep his marriage stable, but had the added bonus of an update to his automail leg to include a couple of recently developed cooling units for his trip across the desert. It would make a nigh impossible voyage bearable, depending on his current standing with Lin. 

Keeping the hood of his cloak up, both for a modicum of secrecy and to avoid any potential trouble with the Ishvalans, Ed looked for the rumoured caravan at all stables and public houses, working his way to the center of the first township from the outskirts inward. Eventually he found RanFan, or rather; she spotted him, leaped down from a roof to block his path and led him back to an inn the prince was renting out. Ed was told to keep his cloak on, until he was in Lin’s presence.

All the secrecy made Ed just a tad nervous. He really had thought he and Lin were on the same page… so to find the prince relaxing and eating was a welcome sight. There was never such a reassurance that Lin was just plain old Lin as when he was overindulging in good food.

Lin cleared his fifth plate while RanFan positioned herself in front of the room’s only window and another guard took position outside their door. What passed for an ‘all clear’ sign by way of knocks on the door, the window and hand signs to the prince were given, before Lin motioned for Ed to take a load off.

Lin might have grown a lot as a politician; he still valued trust and openness among friends. Once the prince had assured himself of Ed’s continued loyalty - or at least camaraderie, he cut to the heart of the matter. Hearing his friend’s tale, Ed was both stunned at the miraculous reappearance of Xerxians, scathing about the Xingese superstition and relieved that he might (hopefully) put the worst fears of the Amestrian brass to rest.

“So, you’ll come with me then, to Xerxes?” Lin formulated it as a friendly request and probably would take no for an answer from Ed. Yet, since his return to Xing, how many people would really have told the prince no on anything? Ed would bet he could count the occurrences on one hand. Now, much more than in his youth, Ed realised that within a few short years, this man who was still younger than him would have absolute rule over an entire country. It must a huge burden. From what little Lin had told, this may be a traditional quest for him, but he also made it sound like his last chance at a vacation.

Ed nodded his consent and Lin smiled broadly. “Great, how good is your Xerxian? If I could drop the small army of interpreters,” a gross exaggeration for the three men he’d brought along, “then it would be just RanFan and you as my guards. It will make camouflage so much easier.”

Ed cocked an eyebrow. “ _Why_ would you want me to pose as your bodyguard?”

Lin waved a hand around dismissively. “Well, you worked for Greed once. Don’t tell me you can’t work for me, just this once?”

Ed waited him out. Lin conceded a small victory by explaining further. “From what I’ve gathered of the natives, RanFan and I will stand out terribly unless we cling to the shadows, but you, my dear friend, you would blend right in. Yet, if worse came to pass, technically you should fall under my judgement, not theirs.”

Ed opened his mouth and then closed it again. “You’re offering your protection?”

Lin leaned back in his seat, all calm confidence. “Naturally.” 

“All right, then.” Ed offered his hand and with an answering grin they shook on a pact forged.

Then Lin got into practical matters. “It’s good that you brought your own clothes, but I’ve thought of something a little different for our trip and introductions.”

At this cue, RanFan stepped forward with a wrapped bundle, which Ed discovered contained an ornate dagger in a leather sheath, as well as the black pants with white sash and black hooded vest that were part of RanFan’s uniform, a metal arm guard and a white and red horned demon mask. Ed inspected the grotesque mask for a minute. “It’s bold,” he stated with a smirk, “I like it.”

 

 

[1] Trial to prove one’s worth to the clan head of one’s courted intended. I got this phrase by mixing phonetic letters of Korean, Chinese and Japanese randomly and can only hope it’s just gibberish and not an insult to someone’s parentage.


	2. Beneath the sands of time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to **dzioo** for putting up with my world-building ramblings. In the end I haven't gotten around to your requested action _yet_. I'm so sorry!  
>  Again thanks also to **sexkitten426** for being an awesome beta.
> 
> Comments and concrit always appreciated.

**Ruins of Xerxes**

If the freed Xerxians had any concerns about the new guard Prince Yao had acquired overnight and the dismissal of most other Xingese in their party once the caravan had crossed the expanse of the desert, they made no comment on it.

The trip took them longer than originally anticipated as a sandstorm had slowed them down still a full day’s trek away from the ruins. One of their donkeys, which carried two tents and several of their water canteens, had thrown his handlers and bolted during the height of the storm. Their search once the wrath of the desert had died down had been in vain. Aside from this major inconvenience, Ed held a new personal grievance against all the stupid sand that had got in-between every crevice and rubbed the skin of his face behind the mask raw. 

At least with their guides there, they didn’t have to search every inch of Xerxes’ ruins to find what they were looking for, even if Lin, RanFan and Ed were not ruling out some ambush attempt just yet. They led the horses and donkeys by hand after entering the ruins.

In the quickly fading light of dusk, by the crumbling but still mostly intact foundations of an ordinary house which was identical to at least ten others surrounding it on the north-eastern block, they found a party of loitering Ishvalans. These men acted like guards and both were armed. One of them looked to be in his fifties, perhaps, and appeared to be in prime shape; the other was a slender youngster of maybe sixteen. The elder of the two gruffly enquired after their business, before the freed people pushed themselves to the head of the throng conversing rapidly in their odd dialect that was somehow a mix of Xerxian, the most ancient form of Amestrian, a slew of words thrown in from the Ishvalan dialect, some Xingese, a little Drachman and even some sentences that sounded vaguely Aerugon.

Shortly, the elder guard shot a command at the boy also on duty, and the youth replied before leading the Xerxians (or whatever they really were) around the corner of another house. Lin, Ed and RanFan made to follow, but the guard told them – in broken Xingese this time – to wait for a while. Since they outnumbered the man three to one, even if they’d just lost possible leverage they complied, mostly because the man lowered his weapon and his stance was more relaxed. Of course, the Ishvalan might’ve just been waiting for backup, but all three of them were good fighters coming in good faith. They were prepared for the worst (RanFan was armed to the teeth and loaded with grenades and Ed himself had a dagger, a few throwing knives and a number of flash bangs), but were willing to take a skip - if not a leap - of faith. Then the boy from before was back, alone and with three pieces of dark cloth. The older man accepted the scraps and explained to Lin that they couldn’t proceed any further without being blindfolded.

Thus, the prince and his two bodyguards were led single-file, with the youngest Ishvalan in the lead and the oldest at the rear, presumably to prevent any escape attempts should they change their minds or become hostile. As he was jostled in the shoulder and stumbling, Ed couldn’t help but envy his companions’ even gait. Ed hadn’t neglected his martial arts training over the years, but RanFan and Lin were masters in many of its branches. When suddenly blinded, their footing was still steady and secure, while Ed was mostly flailing. From what Ed could make out of their surroundings with his other senses, they followed the path around the corner like the Xerxians before them, and then took a few more turns into the heart of the sand-swept ruins, before passing some sort of entrance. Here the breeze was forced through a narrow space – likely a tunnel – and morphed into a gushing wind stream. The path curved downwards and the band descended into cool earth and rock.

They passed several checkpoints. Some of these brief stops seemed designed to avoid obstacles and maybe traps in their way. Further down the path, words were exchanged between the two Ishvalans and likely other guards in the same odd not-quite-Xerxian language. Judging by the way the sound of the wind morphed, they passed these wardens at intersections in the tunnel. A steep decline in temperature, which gnawed at the joints in Ed’s right shoulder, indicated that their group kept travelling deeper underground. Many more stops with odd twists and turns to the path clearly intended to disorient those who walked the road made Ed lose track of time. It could have been that they had been walking for twenty minutes, or an hour - it felt like a long while since he’d felt the scorching sun beat down on his body just that afternoon.

At last they were led into a side room, from the way the floor evened out and the noise of rushing wind cut off, and on into a more spacious cave were the noise of other people echoed off the walls. The sudden removal of his makeshift blindfold had Ed blinking dark spots from the torchlight from his adjusting sight.

On a raised platform of sandstone, some eighteen… no, twenty people sat cross-legged on mats of knotted wool. Lined against the circular wall were more people – armed, at the ready, and with a uniform theme going on in their dress: plain trousers, formfitting-shirt, leather glove on the dominant hand and an insignia pinned on their breast made of precious stone. Ed thought it might be blue agate. The part of Ed’s mind that stored random trivia thought that if these people were who he and Lin had started to suspect they might be, then the choice of gemstone fit. No doubt they had chosen agate, not simply because they had access to it, but likely because of some propaganda crap involved, for it to be used on a uniform. To some, agate stood for truthfulness, strength, wealth, good luck, longevity, acceptance, protection and security. 

Having catalogued the immediate threat of the guards, Ed moved his inspection on to the seated people. Clothed in bright colours of cotton and wool and, in the case of the few women, adorned with bracelets, pins and necklaces made of other gems and metal - these people were obviously wealthy by their standards. Their hairstyles varied. Most just wore their long golden hair loose, but others had an intricate pattern of braids going on or bound and knotted it in different ways.

All of them, with the exception of a few Ishvalan guards, had golden hair and eyes. Ed didn’t know how he felt about that, or if he should feel anything particular at all. His mind raced to piece together all the new information. If these people were not just clones, then there was a small chance – about 0.2 percent, really – that what Ed had thought for years to be the truth behind Xerxes was not all there was to it. Could there really be a truth beneath the truth as well? In Lior, Hohenheim had told Ed that every single soul in the country of Xerxes, encompassed by a gigantic transmutation circle, had been used in creating two Philosopher’s Stones. Then again, for a country as advanced as Xerxes had been at the time, they had to be wealthy. A wealthy country usually runs a good trade. Ed’s eyes widened. Traders. Could it be that simple? But then, why hide themselves away, never to be seen again until now?

Ed’s train of thought was derailed when the oldest of the important people spoke up in fluent Xingese. Ed wasn’t nearly as good with the lyrical language as his brother was, but he caught the gist of the speech. The people before him, or so claimed the old geezer in his croaking baritone, formed the Council of Artaxerxes[2]. Ed turned a scoff at the name into a cough. As if any group of people, any country could ever be ‘ _led by truth_ ’ as the name indicated. If even the universe didn’t bend to the principle of truth entirely, what hope did ordinary people have?

The councilmember expounded his introductions by expressing their thanks to Lin for returning members of their people they had thought lost. Before Lin could manoeuvre that into any sort of advantage, the bearded guy went on to point out that that the people who had stolen their returned kin from their caravans had technically been people under Lin’s father’s command, so while the council was most grateful to Lin and his agents personally, they reckoned they were even with the country of Xing as a whole. They did express hope for better treatment under Lin’s future rule. Diplomatic pleasantries were exchanged without any commitment made. It was far too early for either side to trust the other and make any binding agreements. Such important discussions might follow at a later time, it was mutually decided. 

Lin and his guards were welcome guests and would be provided with any reasonable comfort such status entitled them to, as long as they conformed to Artaxerxian law. The basic rules were reasonable enough: no killing, no stealing, no interfering with matters of the temple, and accepting that some secrets might be shared with them while other would be treasured and kept hidden.

Finally, the matter of where these foreigners would be lodged for the duration of their stay was argued. When Lin politely expressed a vivid interest to stay with a commoner in order to learn more about their people’s way of life, he was regarded with both suspicion and grudging approval. One of the councilwomen got a majority agreement by suggesting they might swap between families both willing and able to provide for them and to start with one of the stone masons.

The blindfolds then went back on and a single guard led them back into the tunnels and across many intersections, until they came to a hall of some sort. There the blindfolds were tucked away. Their guard motioned for them to follow. Both Lin and RanFan masked their surprise well and trailed the sentry. Edward was, for the first time, glad of his porcelain mask, as it covered his gaping appearance. 

Merely a month or two ago, Ed had been convinced nothing he’d discover out in the vast world could faze him much anymore. After all, he’d spent a number of his formative years dogging military heels in the East and in Central. He’d already roamed through a number of fairly unknown countries out West and regularly heard the exotic tales of the Far East from both Lin and Alphonse. How naïve had that thinking been. Ed frowned. He never got over his own arrogance, did he? His thoughts chased each other and wandered as he helplessly stared at the vista unfolding in front of his eyes.

He and Al had had a pet theory when they were very young. True, most of it had been Alphonse’s fancy. The only reason Ed ever voiced his opinion on it was to beat the silly notions Al kept bringing up about their stupid absent father out of the younger boy. Al’s first hypothesis had been that their father had come from a place as far away as Central or West City. When they were older and had seen a fair bit of Amestris’ provinces his – mostly private – theory had been that perhaps the man had been from across the border – perhaps Aerugo or Creta – that he had returned there, possibly for some kind of political asylum, after leaving their mom and them. Actually meeting Hohenheim some years later and hearing his story put Al’s random nightly wondering about the man to rest. The only survivor of the mythical city of ruin didn’t leave much to look into – either genetically or culturally – after all.

Now; though, living proof beyond their wildest fantasies played out before his wide-eyed disbelief. A bazaar – sprawled across multiple walkway levels – was bustling with people. Vendors loudly proclaimed the quality of their goods over one another. A plump woman haggled with off-duty warriors over the price of her semi-stressed chickens and eggs. A stonemason was offering interior repair deals to an elderly woman without sons. A couple of horse-breeders were shoving through the crowd to reach the dwellings of the most affluent traders in the upper echelons. The place, Ed realized, had the same feeling of Resembool’s sheep festival, but with all the vastness of Central’s bustle come Yule. It was both bewildering and oddly gratifying in a way to spot all these golden-haired people mingling when before these, had been traits almost singularly unique to him and Alphonse. Their eye colour differed a little; Ed noticed when he had to swivel to the side to avoid knocking over a flower girl. Most had the same colour as him, but there were variations to brown-flecked, wholly brown, brown-green and the Ishvalan’s ruby eyes.

The whole place was oddly illuminated. At specific intervals, tunnels in the compact earth far above their heads let sunlight filter through, which then hit carefully placed reflective domes to optimize the soft natural light. Ed estimated that at least three levels benefitted from this light trick before torches became an additional necessity.

Their guard, who now acted more like a guide, soon lost patience with Ed’s gawking and led on, forcing the others to follow. They bypassed the market by taking a turn and crossing a stone bridge over the gaping depth of Artaxerxes’ many hidden layers that led to a lower level. They passed through spacious plateaus that were used for communal service buildings, all sturdy built and decorated with carvings. Further down were numerous livestock enclosures and – on a tiered outcropping – even some ragtag vegetable patches fed by a pumping irrigation system. 

On a level below, several craft guilds were bustling with activity. Fires roared from the smithy, ceramics and glass were given shape, and a horse and cart manoeuvred a new influx of logs to the carpenters. 

Further down still housed the residential areas. Elderly people chatted with their neighbours while doing small domestic chores and young children played or squabbled in the passageways between houses.

Their party stopped at one of the larger dwellings on the block. They were invited inside and introduced to the _mater familias_. The woman in charge of the household – slim and weathered but cordial enough – offered refreshments and Lin took a seat while RanFan and Ed navigated the room to solidify their capacity as the prince’s protection while their guide took his leave. It had been decided this family – three generations under the same roof – would host the emissaries for a score of days. The woman, Kayla, discussed with Lin the sleeping arrangements, mealtimes and some basic house rules while a large bowl of meat stew was simmering over a low fire.

They were interrupted when two children, younger than ten, came tearing into the house with raised voices. Ed caught maybe half of the chatter, but the familiarity of kids just being kids even in this unusual place went a long way to calm his jittery nerves. He had a whole new culture to explore and would no doubt screw up royally a couple of times, but Ed was motivated to try and kindle liaisons with these secretive people.

**TBC**

  


* * *

[2] Artaxerxes = “whose rule is through truth”


End file.
